13. Sloane
THIRTEEN
SLOANE
I woke up consumed by what Andrew had asked me.
I couldn't tell him no. I couldn't stand in that dark estate corridor and pretend the best years of my life had never happened.
But the second he used the word past, something in me snagged on it and wouldn't let go.
It wasn't the question, or his voice, or his face.
It was that one devastating word, the finality of its tense.
It made everything we'd been past, settled, done, filed into a category.
He hadn't pressed for a detail, and I hadn't offered one. We retreated to our suite and went to sleep. Now I lay paralyzed in the early-morning quiet, staring at the ceiling, while the word still hung heavy in the room.
I'd never planned to tell him about Xavier. I didn't think the disclosure was necessary. We were friends now, or working toward a platonic truce, and Andrew knowing my history didn't serve the fake-dating arrangement or protect anyone. But he'd asked, and I'd handed him the truth.
The arrangement between us was never built on loyalty or love or anything that demanded secrecy.
He wanted the keys to my father's empire, and I was the fastest path to the boardroom.
I'd walked into this transaction with both eyes open, and those were not the conditions under which lies were required.
But they were also not the conditions under which I'd ever wanted to live, no matter how financially safe the contract felt.
I wanted love. I wanted loyalty, understanding, the intoxicating gravity of being wanted back just as hard.
And I was never going to get those things with Andrew Maxwell.
We were hunting different targets. He was after generational wealth, and I was after love.
I stared at the ceiling fan.
At breakfast, Violet slammed her hands on the table and announced that today's activity was jungle zip-lining.
The table cheered. I shot a look at Xavier across the mahogany. He was already staring at me, with his chin lifted, his dark eyes sparking with mischief.
This wasn't the beach. This wasn't deep water. This, we could conquer.
"This is our chance," I announced, pointing at him.
"Finally," he agreed. "Yesterday was the beach, and we hated every second of it. This is our chance to actually enjoy something."
"We provided critical moral support from the boat," I corrected.
He flashed a brilliant smile. "We supported."
Eliza glanced between us, missing the inside joke. "You both enjoy zip-lining?"
"It's the one physical activity we have in common that we're both good at," I explained.
"It makes your heart race," Xavier added, turning to her. "You forget everything else for a few seconds. Clears your head."
Eliza stared at the tablecloth. "I've only done it once," she admitted. "I didn't get the hang of the mechanics."
"I can walk you through it," Andrew offered. "If you have questions on the platform."
She looked up in surprise. "You've done this a lot?"
"Enough," he shrugged. "The mechanics are easy. It's mostly about the moment you finally let go."
The table fractured into conversation, everyone leaning in to discuss the itinerary, and I picked up my black coffee and let the noise wash over me.
The platform stood terrifyingly high, higher than the photographs had advertised. The air up in the canopy ran cooler, and the drop below was staggering in every direction. I liked the height. Deep water was the only thing that broke me.
I turned to check on Violet and found her paralyzed. She stood still with her hand pressed flat against her chest, staring out at the distance. Simon hovered beside her with his palm resting on her spine, murmuring in a low, grounding voice.
"Violet," I called, stepping closer. "What's wrong?"
"I'm terrified of the height," she confessed, her voice shaking.
"You've never been scared of heights before."
"Because I've never jumped off a cliff before." Her eyes stayed locked on the drop. "I don't know how the freefall's going to feel."
"Okay," I nodded.
"I'll go first," Xavier volunteered, already stepping toward the waiting attendant. "Just watch me. There's nothing to it. Simple mechanism."
"Okay," Violet breathed. She pulled her chin down and hunched her shoulders, her voice coming out in a small, fragile pitch I almost never heard from her.
"After Xavier goes," I strategized, taking charge, "I'll go next, then Andrew, then Eliza. We'll all wait for you at the landing platform, and Simon brings up the rear. That way you're never alone on either end."
She tore her eyes from the drop to look at me, her trembling chin steadying.
"That's a good plan," she agreed.
Xavier stepped up to the edge. The attendants clipped his harness to the thick steel cable.
He stared out at the tree line with his shoulders thrown back, ignoring the safety checks, not adjusting a single strap, just locked onto his destination.
He didn't hesitate at the ledge. He just dropped, a clean backward launch, the metal cable shrieking as he picked up speed.
He rocketed across the canyon without tucking his knees or tensing, and he landed clean on the opposite platform.
The group cheered.
I stepped up to the ledge. The attendants clipped my harness and rushed through the safety briefing. I nodded along, staring out at the green tree line, reminding myself: you've done this before, you've always loved the rush, and there's nothing out there that's going to hurt you.
Then I jumped.
The wind hit my face as the platform dropped away.
I let go of everything I'd been smothering since the corridor: the anxiety, Andrew's question, the heft of the word past. For a few seconds nothing existed but the screaming cable, the speed, the blur of canopy below, the wild yell tearing out of my chest before my brain authorized it.
I rushed toward the landing platform, came in too hot, hit the wood hard, and stumbled forward.
Strong hands clamped onto my waist, and I knew whose they were before I looked up.
His hands closed around my hips, and an electric shock ripped through me. I staggered, realizing with terrifying certainty that my racing pulse had nothing to do with the zip-line. I took a step backward. He mirrored me, stepping forward.
"Something wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
"Nothing's wrong," I snapped. "You don't have to ask."
"You're red."
"I just flew off a zip-line."
"You're flushed." He studied my face, his dark eyes tracking my panic. "Was the drop too much for you?"
He reached out and touched my bare shoulder. I jerked backward. He took another step forward, closing the distance.
"Xavier, stop," I warned.
"You should sit down."
"I don't need to sit. You need to stay away from me."
He went still, staring at me. His head tilted a fraction, calculating the hostility.
"And why," he murmured, his voice dropping, "are you suddenly telling me to stay away?"
"Because," I breathed, the truth slipping out, "if you don't back off, nobody's going to be able to pry me off you."
He stared at me one long heartbeat. His dark brows pulled together for a microsecond, and then his jaw relaxed. A slow smirk curved his mouth.
"Okay," he purred. "We'll see about that."
And he turned and walked away.
Andrew came flying in a moment later. He stuck a solid landing and crossed the platform toward me, putting a warm hand on my shoulder. "You hold up okay?"
"Fine," I lied. "My heart's blazing, but I loved it."
"You screamed the whole way across the canyon."
"Yes," I grinned. "That's the point of the activity."
He let out a booming laugh.
I glanced behind his shoulder. Eliza had launched while we were talking, and her landing was rougher.
She stumbled hard on impact, her knees buckling.
Xavier was already there waiting, his hands gripping her waist to steady her.
When she laughed at her own clumsiness and shook her head, he kept his hands on her waist until she found her footing, then took over to help her work the complicated harness buckle with steady, efficient fingers.
I stood there, watching.
He steadied her, worked the metal buckle, held on until she was safe. The same patience, the same protective hands he'd just used on me. The care wasn't reserved for me. It was just who he was.
Then he turned his head and locked eyes with me.
I looked away.
Eliza was pale by the time our group hiked back down the trail. We found her slumped on a wooden bench near the base camp, her sun hat discarded in her lap, sweating through her linen shirt.
"I think I'm getting heat stroke," she groaned. "I need to go back to the house."
"Yes," Violet agreed, going into crisis mode. "We should all head back. That's enough heat for one day."
Xavier crouched down in front of Eliza. "Get on my back," he ordered.
She stared at him, mortified. "I'm not getting on your back."
"Eliza. Get on my back."
She begrudgingly climbed onto his back. He carried her the whole grueling trek to the waiting SUV, and for the entire drive back, she stayed folded against his side with her head resting on his shoulder. I sat in the backseat next to Andrew and stared out the tinted window at the passing jungle.
Once we got back, most of the group skipped lunch. Xavier walked a dizzy Eliza back to their suite. Simon and Violet vanished into their room shortly after. Andrew and I were the only ones left at a shaded table on the terrace, a big bowl of tropical fruit between us, the afternoon heavy and quiet.
"Did you have fun today?" Andrew asked, leaning back.
"I did," I smiled. "Zip-lining's the only extreme outdoor activity I can commit to."
He chuckled. "You screamed your lungs out."
"I did."
I plucked a piece of fruit from the bowl, turning it over in my fingers before I changed the subject. "You enjoying the trip?" I asked. "This isn't a normal social dynamic to get pulled into."